


Honey

by nocturneblack



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drabble Collection, F/M, First Kiss, First Love, First Time, Food Metaphors, Kissing, Post-Canon, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-08-16 11:44:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8101135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nocturneblack/pseuds/nocturneblack
Summary: A collection of Arya/Gendry drabbles, each based on a food prompt. Some set in canon, plenty of modern AUs.Rated T but some chapters will be closer to an M.





	1. Honey

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: honey  
> Universe: Post-canon  
> Rating: T  
> Summary: Happy and fluffy because I just want Arya to have a happy ending. Arya shares her dessert with Gendry. Did you know that honey never spoils?

A feast in celebration of Sansa’s engagement is what Bran had called it. Arya supposed it was partly for that reason, and partly to reassure their people that they had enough food, that no one in Winterfell or the surrounding villages would starve as the winter slowly receded.

In any case, the great hall was filled with people, everyone reveling in the best food that Winterfell could offer. There was pheasant and rabbit stew and venison. The savory smell of the roasted meats filled Arya’s nose as she swept through the hall, making her way up to the raised table. There were large bowls filled with a medley of squash in all colors, steam rising off of yellow and orange and white. Each table had a basket filled with several plump, brown loaves of bread. The ale and wine flowed freely from jug to flagon, and she saw men and women clanking glasses and downing the intoxicating liquids.

Arya sat at the table between Bran and Sansa, and felt the warmth of companionship sweeping through her chest. Sansa glowed beside her, her cheeks rosy and her long auburn hair pulled back in a simple braid. In two days she would leave with an envoy to White Harbor to wed. Arya was glad that Sansa would not be too far from their home, and had even promised they would visit one another regularly throughout the year. Since the two sisters had been reunited after the war Arya found that they got along much better than they had before. She figured that both of them believing the other to be dead, only to be reunited in Winterfell, could have that effect on a pair of squabbling sisters.

She looked over at Bran, and pride filled her. He had grown into a young man, filling the role of Lord of Winterfell as the dust had settled at the end of the war. The past year had been spent rebuilding the castle, with Bran overseeing all of the plans. Her father and mother would be so proud to see him now, she thought with a sad smile. But her sadness did not last, as she was soon digging in to the plate before her at Sansa’s urging. She heard music coming from the corner of the hall, and she began to tap her foot in time with the rhythm.

It was odd, she thought, to feel genuine happiness after feeling nothing for so long. She had numbed herself to the pain of death and loss and war, not allowing herself to feel, to reflect and heal, until she had returned to Winterfell. The moment she had come through the gates and seen Sansa, her mask had completely crumbled, sobs tearing from her lips as her sister ran to her, embracing her and crying right along with her as they knelt in the snow.

And then, months later, _he_ had come back to her. His was a face she thought she would surely never see again, but there he had been, his blue eyes and strong jaw and black hair offering up his services to Bran and to Winterfell as a blacksmith. He had been living just outside the castle walls, working in a forge and providing armor and swords for the Stark’s men, as well as doing various metal works for the interior of the castle.

A small smirk tugged at her lips as Arya remembered the look on his face when she had gone to see him that first time. He had known she was at Winterfell, but perhaps the shock of seeing her after so many years was what put such a comically surprised expression on his face. Since then she made a point to visit him at least once every few days. She would sit and watch him work, never tiring of the sound the hammer made when it struck metal, or of the sight of Gendry’s muscles bulging as he carved the rough shape of a sword from a sheet of steel.

Arya felt a rush of heat and— well, she’s not sure what to call it, but if she were Sansa she supposed she’d call it giddiness— course through her as she thought of going to see Gendry tonight. She was not entirely sure when their relationship had turned from friendly to something decidedly more than friendship. If she really thought about it, she was not entirely sure their relationship was purely friendly at the time of their reunion. But at a certain point she had kissed him, and he had initially protested, arguing that it wasn’t right, that he was only a bastard.

But at some point he had started kissing her back.

So she would leave the castle walls every so often and creep in to his forge (not particularly caring if someone saw her anyways) and they would kiss one another and sometimes his hand would creep beneath her clothing when he was feeling bold. She lived for the days when he was bold.

Before long the dinner plates were cleared away and replaced by plates of dessert. She looked down at the plate of fruit and smiled. There were grapes and berries with a drizzle of honey on top. A small piece of honeycomb lay beside the fruit. It had been so long since they had had honey this far north. They must have gotten it from a farm further south, where the snows had long since receded and the bees had been able to thrive. She dabbed her pinky in the honey, raising it to her lips and tasting the distinct, sweet flavor.

She thought of the blacksmith then, of how much he loved sweets and how very rarely he was able to have them. Glancing around, she wondered if anyone would notice if she left the hall. Deciding she didn’t care if they did, and knowing that no one would say anything, she quietly made for the door, bringing the plate of fruit and honey with her.

As she trudged through the snow she thought of Gendry’s refusal to dine with them in the hall, despite Bran’s repeated assurances that “any friend of Arya’s is a friend of the North.” She rolled her eyes at the thought of her stubborn bull. He had it in his head that it would be wrong for him to dine with her given the nature of their relationship, despite the fact that he wouldn’t even be sat at the same table as she. She laughed aloud then at his sense of honor, and her voice rang out in the night air.

She reached his forge in a few minutes, pushing the door open and calling out a greeting.

He grunted in reply, his back to her, hammering away at a sword on the anvil. She watched the muscles of his back ripple under his tanned, grimy skin for a moment before speaking once more.

“I brought you a surprise,” she said, moving the plate of fruit behind her back.

He set down the sword and hammer and turned to look at her. There was a grin on his face, and she delighted in how young it made him look. It reminded her of when she first met him, when he was more of a boy than a man grown.

“Give it here, then,” he said.

She stuck her nose in the air and looked him up and down.

“Kiss me first.”

He laughed at her before walking to her and bringing his lips down to hers, his hands gripping her waist roughly. She loved the taste of him, of sweat and burning wood and something distinctly Gendry. His lips moved to her neck then, and she felt his short beard brush against her skin there.

“Do I get my surprise now?” he asked, his tone playful.

She brought the plate out from behind her, and his face lit up at the sight of the succulent fruits. He reached out tentatively, his eyes meeting hers.

“Thank you,” he said as his fingers plucked a grape from the plate. He looked down at the fruit in his hands, his eyebrows furrowing.

“What’s on this? It’s sticky.” He brought the fruit up to his nose, sniffing it.

She laughed lightly at him before sobering. So often she forgot that he had been raised in very different circumstances from her, and had never had anything of luxury.

“It’s honey,” she explained. “It comes from bees.”

“I’ve only heard of it, I’ve never had it before,” he said, looking slightly embarrassed.

“Try it,” she urged. “It’s sweet, but tastes different than most sweet things.”

He popped the grape in to his mouth, taking a moment to taste the honey before his teeth bit down on the fruit.

His eyes widened in delight and his tongue darted out to lick his lips. He picked up another grape before swallowing the first. She laughed.

“Good, isn’t it?” she asked.

“It’s brilliant!” he said, still chewing.

She looked down at the plate, at the piece of honeycomb. She had wanted to save it for herself; if she told him that part was inedible, that it was only for decoration, he surely would have believed her, and likely would have made some jape about highborns decorating their food. But his reaction to the honey made her think twice.

It made her think of the food Gendry must have grown up eating— brown, watery concoctions that could hardly be called stew; stale, crusty ends of bread loaves; old, browning vegetables if he was lucky. It was a wonder, really, that he had grown to be as tall as he had. She thought of the way his eyes lit up whenever she brought him food from the castle. She thought of how thankful he always was when she brought him something, thought of the way he smiled and kissed her cheek in thanks, and that thought alone was enough to make her change her mind about the honeycomb.

“Here,” she said, picking up the honeycomb with her thumb and forefinger.

“This is the best part,” she said as she put it to his lips, thinking of the way the honey gushed out of the little perfectly formed wax holes.

He opened his mouth and she placed the white and yellow chunk of wax and honey on his tongue. His eyes widened in surprise at the unfamiliar texture before closing in delight as he chewed, a smile coming to his lips

“That,” he said after swallowing, “was the strangest and most delicious thing I have ever eaten.”

She smiled, noticing that his lips were glistening with the amber liquid. She put the plate down on the table behind her.

She leaned forward, still smiling, and pressed her parted lips to his. He hummed contently against her mouth, his lips parting easily. She slipped her tongue in to his mouth, tasting the honey, sweet and strong and mixed with the taste of him.

Gendry cupped her face between his large, blackened hands as he pressed sticky kisses to her cheeks.

Her mouth tasted of honey, and her heart felt very full.


	2. Sunflower Seeds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sunflower seeds are the only food they're allowed to eat in Gendry's car. I wrote this with the idea of it being set in the 1950s or 60s, but I didn't really try make it specific to a certain time period.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: sunflower seeds  
> Universe: modern AU  
> Rating: M for language and references to sex

He’s constantly eating sunflower seeds, the kind that have the shells on that come in a long plastic bag. It was the fist thing she'd noticed when she met him, when he had been standing outside the mechanic’s shop, standing there in a wife beater with his oil-stained coveralls pushed down to his waist, spitting out the shells of sunflower seeds. He'd been standing there and watching her so intently that she just had to say _something_ to him, though she wasn’t sure whether she had wanted him to stop staring at her or ask her out on a date.

He’s spitting the shells out of his rolled down car window as they drive through the town at night, and Arya loves the way the car shakes with the rattle of the engine. He’s got the radio turned loud and he’s singing along, taking turns between looking at her and the road.

“Gendry!” she shrieks when he stares at her for just a little too long, and he nearly swerves into the other lane. But there are no other cars on the road. It’s just the two of them tonight. He grabs her hand and drives a little faster.

When he smiles she notices that his straight teeth seem just slightly too short. And Gendry is tall. He likes to prove it to her by picking her up whenever he pleases, either to her delight or annoyance. His arms and legs are thick with muscle— a working man’s body. His fingernails are always dirty and she would sometimes find specks of oil behind his ears.

Her sister and her friends had called it a “summer fling.” They took one look at Gendry and saw how good-looking he was, saw his large muscles and his dark blue eyes, and figured that little Arya Stark was only fooling around with the mechanic for the sunny season.

And maybe it _had_ been pure physical attraction that brought them together, that made her eager instead of hesitant when he had kissed her after the first time he'd taken her out; and she had liked when he had her pushed against a wall in some alley after their dinner at that little Italian place, and hadn’t protested at all when his hands grabbed at her behind as his tongue slipped in to her mouth. The only boy to kiss her before that had been a boy her age, and they had only ever gotten as far as chaste, lips-slightly-parted kisses.

Maybe it had started as a fling, but when he took her to the lake and told her he had never felt about a girl the way he felt about her while they were standing in the water, she felt herself longing for him in a way that went beyond a teenage girl’s lust.

Arya clutches his hand as they speed down the road, the streetlamps casting a dull orange glow on their skin.

“You’re going to miss the turn, stupid,” she says, giggling and pointing to get him to merge in to the turn lane. He does, and she feels her stomach twist with excitement as they merge onto the freeway. They’re headed to a cabin that belongs to a buddy of his, who had let Gendry have it for the weekend. The cabin is on the lake that’s only an hour out from town.

Her mother had been furious when she learned that the boy Arya had been spending so much time with was twenty-three and a mechanic from a poor family. Her mother had yelled at her, told her that Gendry was beneath her, but all of her outrage and disapproval only made it easier for Arya to sneak out at night, to climb out of her bedroom window and in to Gendry’s car with the hope that he would leave hickeys on her neck for her mother to see the next morning.

Gendry offers her the bag of sunflower seeds as they cruise down the freeway. His car is his prized possession, and the interior smells like leather. Arya had been unsurprised when she found those sunflower seed shells on the floor mats; it was the only food they were allowed to eat when they were in his car. He had even named it.

“Gloria’s really purring for me tonight,” he says, running his hands over the steering wheel. “Are you going to purr for me tonight, as well?” He’s grinning at her, and she returns it as she punches his shoulder. He’s often lewd with his words, and Arya loves it. He doesn’t treat her like some demure little lady.

She remembers how they had been in the back of the near-empty movie theater, how she had tried to focus on the screen but couldn’t because of the way his hand had been traveling up her skirt, passing her knee, his fingers roaming over the soft skin of her thigh.

“Do you know what I want to do to you right now?” he had asked, and she had kissed him, shoving her tongue in his mouth right there in the theater, the movie completely forgotten, and he tugged her out of the dark room by the hand.

“If you play your cards right,” she teases, knowing it won’t take much. The very prospect of an empty cabin and a big warm bed is enough to make her ache to have him between her legs.

She remembers how Sansa had looked when Arya told her that she and Gendry had fucked. She had used the word “fucked” and Sansa’s jaw had nearly dropped. But that’s what he did— he fucked her, on his mattress and on the chair in his living room and once against the wall.

“How could you just let him ruin you, Arya?” Sansa had demanded, but Arya didn’t understand how Sansa couldn’t see that Arya wanted Gendry in the same way he wanted her. It wasn’t about “letting” him do things to her. She wanted to do things, too. Sansa had told her that Gendry would now grow tired of her, that he’d blow her off the next chance he got, now that he had “gotten what he wanted.” But he hadn’t stopped seeing her, and each time they fucked it felt to Arya like rebellion against everyone in her life who thought he was no good for her, against everyone in town who talked about them and said how wrong they were for one another.

He sings some more as the radio blares, and at one point Arya sticks her hands out the window, the crisp fall air tingling her fingers. She gazes at him from time to time, and at one point he leans over and kisses her full on the mouth, when they’re on a long, straight stretch of highway and there are no other cars around. She feels his stubble brush against her face as he lightly bites her bottom lip before pulling away from her, his eyes back on the road and a grin on his face.

_It’s us against the world_ , she thinks, but there in his car it feels like they are the only two people in the world that matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews really make my day! More chapters to come!  
> -K


	3. Cake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: cake  
> Universe: Modern AU  
> Rating: M for sexual content  
> Summary: Arya, Gendry, and a hotel room

He pulls into the hotel parking lot, keeping a hand on the bag sitting next to him in the passenger seat to steady its contents. He parks the car and turns it off, taking a deep breath as he does. He doesn’t really know why he’s nervous all of a sudden. He hadn’t been nervous when he picked her up, as she climbed into his car wearing a dress for maybe the third time in the nine years he had known her. And he hadn’t been nervous when they had been waiting at the courthouse, hadn’t hesitated at all when the clerk called, “Gendry Waters and Arya Stark.”

Maybe it was her presence that had kept him calm. Maybe all his mind could focus on was how beautiful she looked in the simple white cotton dress, how much he loved her.

But now, as he heads into the hotel, carrying the paper grocery bag, he is wildly, inexplicably nervous.

He makes for the elevators, hitting the number five and flipping the room key-card between his fingers as the elevator lurches upward.

The hotel is nothing special, just one of the chains that dot every highway exit. They had planned on driving straight through the night, not stopping until they reached the beach house that Gendry’s half-brother was graciously lending them for their “honeymoon.” But Arya had mentioned the “wedding night” and he had become so excited at the prospect of having sex with her in a hotel room that he had booked a room without any additional convincing on her part.

He slips the card into the card reader and pushes the door open when the little light turns green.

“I got us a cake,” he calls, taking a small, round cake out of the bag and setting it on the table near the door.

“That’s what you went out for?” she calls, her voice coming from behind the bathroom door.

“I got champagne too,” he adds. “You know, so we can toast… to us… or something.” He laughs a bit at the ridiculousness of their attempt to preserve certain wedding traditions when they hadn’t even had a wedding. He hears her laughing, too.

“You trying to get me liquored up?” she asks.

“Damn, I was hoping you wouldn’t catch on to my plan,” he says as he cuts a slice of cake for each of them with a plastic knife, putting the slices on paper plates he bought. There are little plastic cups in a plastic sleeve that were already in the hotel room, and he breaks two of them out, pouring each of them some champagne.

“You already convinced me to marry you, I don’t think there’s much left after that,” she says, the door to the bathroom still shut.

“What are you doing in there?” he asks. There’s a bit of vanilla icing on his finger, and he licks it off. The taste is overwhelmingly sweet, but beggars who drive to small-town grocery stores at seven o’clock at night really can’t be choosers.

“Just be patient for once,” she calls, and he laughs, because _she_ is the notoriously impatient one.

“Can you… sit on the bed?” she says, a note of shyness creeping into her voice. Arya is never shy.

The cake and the champagne are completely forgotten as he takes a seat at the foot of the bed, atop the dark blue comforter.

He kicks his shoes off, and then his socks, because that seems like the right thing to do to keep him occupied.

“Are you sitting?” She sounds just as nervous as he had felt in the car, and he can’t figure out why she should be nervous— they’ve had sex hundreds of times by this point.

“Yes,” he answers, his voice low, too low, but she must have heard him because she opens the door and steps out.

He’s seen her in her underwear plenty of times, but there’s something distinctly different about her body in lingerie, and he can’t help that his mouth is hanging open a bit.

A white, lace bra that he can see her dark pink nipples through covers her breasts. Her panties match her bra, but they’ve got these two little straps that rest on each thigh, and at the end of each strap is a clip that is holding up the sheer, white, thigh-high stockings she is wearing. Her hair is down and in soft waves from being braided all day. She had put little flowers in her braid, and she now had one of them tucked behind her ear.

Arya almost never wore makeup, but her lips seemed a bit darker and redder than usual, and he thought her eyelashes seemed darker, too.

“Oh my God,” he manages to say, and he understands why she sounded so nervous, why this time would be different. She was his wife now, and the emotions associated with that feeling of _she’s mine, I’m hers,_ hit him square in the chest, speeding up his heart and making it a little hard to breathe.

“Hi,” she says, barely above a whisper, and the sound sends a shiver coursing up his spine.

“Hi,” he returns, and he wants to stand up and go to her, but he stays sitting because she had asked him to sit, and he wants to do anything she wants him to do, wants to do anything to make her happy.

But she walks over to him, and she’s moving too slowly but at least she’s moving, and then she is close enough so that he can reach up and touch her. He does, bringing his hands up to hold her around the waist.

She climbs into his lap, her knees on either side of his thighs, her arms wrapping around his neck, and he _feels_ her, feels her warm limbs and soft skin beneath his hands, and when she kisses him he is already painfully, desperately hard for her.

He runs his hands through her hair, tilting her head back so that he can run his lips up and down the sides of her neck. Her breath comes out in quick, sharp gasps, and he flips her onto her back, pressing his hips into hers so that she can feel him, so that she can feel just how easy it is for her to drive him wild.

She moans loudly when he presses against her at just the right angle, and then he is pulling away so that he can take off his clothes faster than he ever has in his life. He gets down to just his boxers and she hooks her ankles around his waist and pulls him down to her.

The feeling of her bare skin against his feels so right that he wonders why they don’t simply spend all their time like this.

He kisses her mouth, her neck, her chest as his hands slip behind her to undo the clasp of her bra. He unhooks it and peels it away from her. He lowers his head to her breasts, and uses his tongue and lips until her nipples are hard and tight.

Out of nowhere he’s thinking about the first time he saw her topless, when they were in the backseat of his car, parked somewhere. She had just finished telling him that her mother had practically forbidden Arya to see Gendry, and then suddenly she was pulling him close, kissing him and asking him if they could move to the backseat. He had complied, of course, and the two of them just barely fit, what with him being so tall.

She had peeled off her t-shirt and he hadn’t stopped her, and when her hands had moved behind her back he didn’t ask if she was sure, he had let her do what she wanted. The moonlight had streamed in through the car windows, and he touched her gently, knowing she had never done this before, wanting to take care of her.

Arya wiggling out from beneath him snaps him out of the memory. She stands up by the foot of the bed and he gives her a questioning glance. He moves to sit up but she pushes him back down. He stays on his back while she tugs on his boxers, sliding them all the way down his legs and off. She pushes his knees apart and he complies, knowing what she wants to do.

Her lips leave soft kisses on his thighs and near his hip bones. His cock is so hard and sensitive that just the touch of her hair brushing against his length has him groaning.

“Arya,” he pants, his voice gruff. He feels her tongue on him, and he lifts his head so that he can watch as she wraps her lips around him. One of her hands, soft and warm but nowhere near as warm as her mouth, comes up to hold him at the base while she takes more of him in her mouth. Her grey eyes lock onto his as she begins sucking and bobbing her head and doing something with her tongue that he’s never been able to describe but that makes him feel like he’s floating, pleasure coursing through every inch of him.

Then he gently but forcibly moves her head away from him, having just begun to feel that telling tension in his lower abdomen and at the base of his spine. He sits up and easily pulls her up next to him, his large, muscled arms wrapping around her. His body is screaming at him for not finishing in her mouth, but he wants to be inside her, wants to give her the pleasure he was feeling, wants to give her everything.

He forces himself to calm down, to slow his pace as he unclips her stockings and rolls them down her legs. She is whimpering in frustration below him, urging him to hurry up.

“Gendry, please,” she begs him, but he doesn’t want to come the second he’s inside her like some excited sixteen-year-old.

He peels off her underwear and then she is completely naked beneath him. Her breasts are heaving and her cheeks are pink.

“You are so beautiful,” he says. She gets that look in her eye like she wants to tell him she loves him, but he lowers his head to kiss her. His tongue slips into her mouth as his fingers push into the heat of her, and she is wetter than she has ever felt before, even more than the time at Sansa’s wedding when they had slow-danced while he had whispered everything he was going to do to her later in her ear.

He brings his thumb up to rub her clit in circles, and in moments she is crying out, her voice loud, and he kisses her, hard and desperate as he pushes into her wet heat. Usually when they have sex she is on top, to make their height difference less difficult to work around, but tonight he wants to be on top of her, thrusting into her and controlling her pleasure.

The sound of their coupling fills the hotel room— their skin making contact, the rustle of the comforter against the mattress, their panting breath and the frantic groans that fall from both their lips.

Her face contorts and he can tell from the way she is panting that she is close to her climax. Her legs come up around his hips and he slows his pace, kisses her cheek and her lips and her brow.

“I love you. I love you,” he says against her forehead, and then he is picking up his pace, his hips jutting against hers as he fucks her, makes love to her, his Arya, his wife.

She comes with a sharp cry that sounds like the first syllable of his name but quickly dissolves into an unintelligible moan. With a final push he lets the tension coiled inside him release, his peak hitting him like a powerful wave barreling into him. He brings his lips to hers as he comes inside of her.

He moves to roll off of her but she keeps her legs locked around his waist and wraps her arms around his neck, holding him to her so that he can’t even pull his cock out of her warmth. He buries his face in her neck.

“I love you so much,” she says, her voice breathless as she slowly comes down from her high.

And Gendry wants to make a grand declaration of love for her, wants to write her songs and swear promises to her and tell her he’d give her anything she wanted. But in a way he had done all of those things, had done it when he woke up a week ago and told her he wanted to marry her. He’d done it when he signed his name on a piece of paper, right next to her name, her hand in his as they stood inside a room in the courthouse.

And so he is content to hold her, to breathe in the scent of sweat and perfume on her skin while her fingers run through his hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm never quite sure how to go about writing sex scenes. I don't want it to be too smutty, but I don't want it to be devoid of feeling. I love the idea of Arya and Gendry eloping; is it because her family doesn't approve, or is it because they just can't be bothered to plan a big wedding? I liked leaving that open-ended.  
> Reviews are as sweet as vanilla buttercream icing.  
> -K


	4. Wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya has been changed by war and death, but she's still a teenager with a crush. Or, Arya has a bit too much wine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Wine  
> Universe: post-canon  
> Rating: G

She couldn’t believe he was in Winterfell. On the one hand, it made some degree of sense; he had fought honorably under the command of Jon and Bran in the Battle of the Dawn, as some were already calling it. It wasn’t as though Arya was expecting him to stay with her older brother at the Wall. But on the other hand… he was _Gendry_ , and he was with her on the King’s Road, with her when she thought they were both going to die in Harrenhal, and then in the riverlands. Seeing him now in her home, sitting at the end of the table at which she sat— well it was all just a bit surreal.

Hadn’t she imagined this countless times? She and Gendry, safe and alive, and with her family in Winterfell one day. She had imagined her mother and Robb there, she thought sadly, but she had Sansa and Bran and Rickon, which was more than she had hoped for when she had returned from Braavos a few short months ago.

It was strange, how easy it was to become Arya Stark on the outside again, after being so many others for so long. She supposed that being around her siblings and being back at the place she had always called home— even when she was no one, when she was faceless— made it easy for her to reclaim her true name. And it was strange how difficult it was to feel like she was herself again on the inside. If her siblings noticed the way she sometimes stared blankly ahead, her expression carefully devoid of any emotion as she remembered a life she took, they made no mention of it.

She had her family back, and many aspects of her old life. And now she had Gendry. The large, dark-haired blacksmith— knight, she corrected, though she knew it wouldn’t stick— sat near the end of the long wooden table, talking with a pair of men that Arya recognized as Umbers. He looked larger— taller and broader than when she last saw him. He looked older as well, wearing his hair a bit shorter and having grown a short beard.

She felt something unfamiliar in her gut, a feeling that was not fear or anger or mistrust, when she looked at his face, and nearly entertained the thought that he was handsome before she inwardly chastised herself for being so stupid, for _feeling_. Still, it was strange to see him there at her table, and she wondered what happened to the boy that would have refused to let his lowborn, bastard status soil the table of highborn lords and ladies. Perhaps the man he had grown into no longer felt that sense of inferiority. She would be glad of it. She had learned that things like societal rule and status meant nothing in this world; being bastard or true born or rich or poor meant nothing against death.

She sipped from her cup of wine, enjoying the bittersweet taste as the hour grew later and the number of people inside the large hall slowly dwindled. When she was younger she had never particularly enjoyed wine, but she found herself enjoying the distinct flavor as she downed the rest of her cup. Although perhaps now she enjoyed it for the effect it had on her, making her feel lighter, making her feel more like her old self and less like someone who was just pretending, who was just Arya Stark on the outside.

Arya turned to her left as Sansa rose from the table and bid her goodnight. Bran had gone to bed some time ago, and she wasn’t sure where Rickon had run off to before she’d even finished her food. She looked around and realized how late it must have been, for only a handful of men remained in the hall. As if he had just had the same thought, Gendry rose from his seat, bidding goodnight to the Umbers. He passed by Arya, his eyes holding hers for only a moment before he looked down and nodded his head at her. Maybe he hadn’t changed as much as she’d thought. She was just grateful he hadn’t muttered “milady” as he passed.

He was far more to her than just another inhabitant of the castle. He was far more than just some blacksmith— _knight_ — that could forge swords for her brother’s men. She wondered if he knew that. She stood from the table, still tasting the wine on her tongue. It wasn’t like she had had a chance to tell him; she had hardly spoken to him since she had first seen him at the Wall, where she had remained distant out of sheer shock to see him alive. There had been a stiff, formal greeting, and then they had both been swept up in preparing for the battle they’d had little hope of surviving. Since they had arrived at Winterfell there had been nothing more than quick glances at one another at meals or in the yard. His glances were always so damned _shy_ and fleeting.

There had been no chance for her to tell him… Tell him what exactly? That she was no longer angry with him for joining the Brotherhood? So much had happened to her between then and now. There had been too much death for her to still be angry. Would she tell him that she was happy that he was with her in Winterfell? Yes, probably that, she thought. Her mind felt a little fuzzy and her legs felt a little wobbly as she made her way up a flight of stairs. She felt her cheeks heat up as she thought of the warmth she felt in her chest every time she saw him. She didn’t know why she felt embarrassed by that; maybe she didn’t know whether or not she deserved happiness.

 _You’re not blushing because you’re happy,_ said a reprimanding voice in Arya’s head that sounded an awful lot like Sansa. Gendry was her friend, of that she was sure. But suddenly calling him her friend didn’t seem quite right. There was something in the way they looked at one another now that went beyond friendship. Arya was old enough now— had seen enough— to realize that. She was also old enough to know that Gendry was handsome. She had realized that when she was a girl, though she hadn’t been attracted to him then the way she was now.

 _There,_ said the Sansa voice, _you’ve admitted that you’re attracted to him._

She may have still been a maid, but though she was innocent in deed she wasn’t innocent in thought. There had been countless nights she had lain in bed, imagining what it would be like to have a man on top of her, between her thighs.

 _You’ve always imagined it was Gendry,_ she told herself.

Arya moved slowly down the corridor, heading for her room, which suddenly seemed so _far_.

She noticed Gendry then, walking a ways ahead of her.

 _The object of my fantasies,_ she thought, and laughed aloud. _Too much wine._

He had heard her, as the castle was silent, and he turned around swiftly, on high alert. Then he saw that she was the one who had laughed, and he looked at her in that way he had looked at her in the hall.

“Hello,” she called to him, and he began moving toward her.

“You’re up late,” he said softly as he reached her.

“Yes,” she said, and suddenly felt very awkward. It was the most they had spoken to one another in  years.

“Is—is your room around here, then?” she asked. She didn’t know which room Bran had given him.

“Just up ahead,” he said, pointing. “Then to the right.”

“Mine’s that direction as well,” she said, and her voice sounded strange to her own ears.

She laughed again, a high-pitched sound, and he raised his eyebrows.

“Will you escort me, _Ser_?” she asked, still giggling. He grinned, a rare sight on his usually solemn face.

“Are you drunk, milady?”

She shook her head.

“Almost. Not quite,” she said, and supposed it was true enough. He didn’t look like he believed her.

“Come on then,” he said, extending his arm to her. She took it, though she really didn’t need help to walk. She liked holding onto him, though.

“Isn’t this sort of funny?” she asked, turning to look up at him. He was at least a foot taller than her. “How we both ended up here, I mean, at Winterfell.”

“It is,” he said, then stared down at her. His face was serious, and it made her feel nervous.

“I’m glad you are here, Arya,” he said, and the sound of his voice saying her name— _Arya_ , not Beth, not Cat, not no one— made her nearly stumble. She clutched his arm just a bit tighter as he steadied her.

“I’m glad you’re here as well,” she said, slowly.

“We’re not easy to kill,” she said, laughing again. He laughed and shook his head.

“Who let you have so much wine?”

“Let me?” she asked, yanking on his arm. “ _Let_ me? I’m not a child! I’m a woman grown! I do what I want to do,” she huffed.

He laughed as they took a right.

“I am!” she shouted.

“Alright,” he laughed. “Just keep your voice down.”

It felt right, she thought as her anger cooled, being with Gendry. Not at the table, but just the two of them. 

_The way it should be,_ she thought. It made her feel like she was someone, like she was really Arya again.

“Where’s your room?” he asked her. She looked around the long corridor.

“We passed it,” she laughed. She wasn’t sure when she had last laughed so much in one night. He rolled his eyes.

“Pay attention then,” he said as he turned them around. She saw the door to her room and pointed it out to him. They came to a stop, and he moved to pull his arm away from her, but she held on.

“Will you stay here?” she asked. His eyes widened slightly as his face flushed.

“At Winterfell,” she quickly clarified, and felt herself blushing, thinking about Gendry in her room, in her bed.

“I think so,” he answered slowly. “There’s not much for me to do with the Brotherhood anymore. And your brother has mentioned that Winterfell needs a blacksmith. Says that I could take on an apprentice or two.”

“Good,” Arya said, nodding her head just a bit too vigorously. “Goodnight, Gendry,” she said, and she realized then how close he was to her, how she could clearly make out how blue his eyes were and could even see a dusting of light freckles on his nose.

Her head really was beginning to feel a bit clearer, but she rationalized her leaning in toward him by telling herself it was an effect of the wine. She moved quickly, suspecting that he might pull away. She pressed her lips to his, her hand still holding his arm. His mouth tasted of wine, as she imagined hers did. He didn’t pull back straight away, and she had time to think of the way his soft lips contrasted with the rough texture of his beard before he was putting his hands on her shoulders, gently but insistently pushing her away.

She had almost expected him to look shocked, but his face was completely unreadable as he stared down at her. He brought a hand up and gently pushed a lock of hair away from her face. Arya stood completely still, the flicker of torchlight making shadows dance across his face as he bent down and pressed his lips to her forehead.

“Goodnight, Arya,” he said softly, his lips near the crown of her head where she couldn’t see his face. He turned and continued down the corridor, leaving her to slip into her room, feeling something she suspected was contentment.

* * *

 

From that night forward Arya could hardly call the looks he gave her “shy” or “fleeting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think there will be just one more prompt/chapter in the series, to fulfill the "first time" tag. Thank you so much for your comments, kudos, and support!  
> -K


	5. Spearmint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya is adamant about her first time being with Gendry. It's pretty smutty and doesn't really contain a lot of plot, yet somehow managed to be 3k words long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Promt: spearmint  
> Universe: modern AU  
> Rating: M for sexual content

“I think we should have sex.”

Gendry nearly choked on his bite of pizza at her bold declaration. Of all the things he had expected when he asked his friend what she wanted to do that night, that answer was definitely nowhere near the realm of possible responses.

“What?” He stared at her with wide eyes. She hopped down from the stool next to the kitchen counter and made her way over to the couch in his living room. She plopped down and rested her feet on the coffee table.

“It just seems like something I should do before I leave in the fall,” she said nonchalantly as she picked at her nails.

“I… I… _what?!_ ” he sputtered, still at a loss.

Arya looked up at him and rolled her eyes, something he was used to after years of friendship with her.

“I don’t want my first time to be awkward, or with some jerk, or… bad.” She glanced up at him.

“And you’re experienced,” she grinned, “so you can’t be _that_ bad at it.”

“Oh my God,” he groaned.

“What?” She sounded genuinely surprised that he hadn’t immediately agreed to her proposition.

“Don’t you think that would be a bit awkward? We’ve been friends for years, since we were kids!”

“That’s why it’s perfect!” she said, standing up and walking over to where he was leaning against the counter. She had clearly put a lot of thought into this and was not going to give up on the idea easily.

“We love each other!” she continued. “I mean— not like _that_ — but you know, in a friend way!”

Gendry laughed at her and the sincerity in her expression. If he was being honest with himself, sometimes Gendry wasn’t sure if all of his feeling for Arya were purely friendly.

“And I know that you find me attractive,” she added, clearly not giving up. “And I find you attractive, too. We’re adults, here. Adults who should have sex!”

“Stop saying that,” he groaned, turning away from her to throw out the empty pizza box.

“Well, why shouldn’t we?”

“Because you haven’t before,” he said, meeting her sharp grey eyes. “And there are a lot of emotions that come with that.”

She scoffed.

“Gendry, do I seem like the type of girl to get all teary-eyed over that sort of thing?

He knew she had him there. Arya always seemed to be in firm control of her emotions, and rarely lost that control.

It wasn’t like Gendry was totally opposed to the idea. He did find her attractive, and he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it. Multiple times.

“Look,” he began, trying to piece together what he could possibly say to the eager eighteen-year-old in front of him as he pulled out a piece of spearmint gum from his pocket, unwrapping it and popping it in his mouth.

“If we do this, there needs to be rules.”

“That takes a bit of the fun out of it, but go on,” she said.

“Rule number one: we cannot let this affect our friendship. Things can’t get weird between us, after.”

“Agreed,” she said. “I won’t let it get weird.”

“Rule number two: this is a onetime thing.”  
She furrowed her brows and looked at him skeptically for a moment before nodding her head in agreement.

“Lastly,” he said, taking a breath, “We can’t tell people that we had sex. If your brothers found out that I—”

“Oh come on,” she interrupted, rolling her eyes. “They’re not going to do jack shit! I’m an adult and I can make my own choices.”

“Arya,” he sighed. “You’re their little sister. They’re not going to think about it calmly and rationally. It’s for the best to keep it between us.”

“Fine,” she sighed. “So when are we doing this? Tonight?” she asked, perking up again.

“Not tonight,” he said. “We need time to prepare.”

Arya snorted.

“Is there some sort of exercise I should be doing?”

It was his turn to roll his eyes.

“I meant mentally. I sort of have to wrap my head around the idea of having sex with my best friend.”

“Right,” she said.

“Plus I should clean my room,” he said, more to himself than to her.

She laughed.

“Whatever you say,” she said.

“How about Saturday night? You could come over at ten, after I get off work.”

“The anticipation might kill me, but Saturday works,” she said as she grinned up at him.

* * *

 

The anticipation really did almost kill her. In that span of three days she checked her phone constantly, waiting for a text from him explaining that he’d changed his mind. To her delight, it never came.

On Thursday she spent a much longer amount of time than usual stretching after her hour-long workout at the gym.

On Friday she read a litany of online articles about the myth of the first time needing to be painful.

On Saturday afternoon she found herself sitting on the edge of the bathtub, meticulously shaving every inch of her legs. She wanted to chastise herself for being so superficial, for doing something for a man, but she realized that she wanted it to be good for him in the same way she wanted it to be good for herself.

At 9:30 on Saturday night she was standing in front of her open closet, attempting to pick out an outfit that was flattering but didn’t make her look like she was trying too hard.

She wasn’t sure if she was nervous, but figured she had the right to be. He was Gendry— not only her best friend but her first (and on-again, off-again) crush. The way she saw it, having sex with him would get it out of her system, and she’d be free to go off to school in the fall and meet a guy who was interested in her beyond friendship. She knew Gendry was attracted to her, but she also knew that he didn’t exactly do relationships. Because they had been friends for so long Arya had resigned herself to the idea that he would never see her as a potential girlfriend. Longtime friend and onetime lover would have to suffice.

As she decided on a long, loose, striped t shirt and a pair of black leggings (she distinctly remembered Gendry calling her “cute” when she had first worn the outfit), a soft knock sounded at the door.

“Come in,” she called.

It was her sister.

“Are you heading out?” Sansa asked as she walked into Arya’s room.

“Yeah, I’m going to Gendry’s in a bit,” Arya said, taking off her tank top and throwing on the striped shirt. “But I told mom and dad I’m going to Shireen’s, because I might be out late, and, well, you know how they are with boys,” she said as she pulled on the leggings.

“Got it,” said Sansa, plopping down on Arya’s bed.

There had been a time when Arya would’ve never dreamed of telling her older sister about a lie she’d told their parents, but the two had grown remarkably closer after Sansa moved back home following the end of a disastrous engagement.

“And who are you trying to look cute for?” Sansa asked as Arya put on a pair of hoop earrings.

Arya scoffed.

“A girl puts on earrings and suddenly she’s trying to look cute for someone?”

Sansa saw right through her.

“So your crush on Gendry is a thing again.”

Arya rolled her eyes.

“You like him!” accused Sansa, her eyes lighting up.

“Whatever.”

Sansa grinned.

“The two of you are totally meant to be together,” she gushed dreamily. “I mean, for a while he was too old for you, but you’re eighteen now—”

“Sansa,” Arya groaned.

“He’ll come around,” Sansa said.

Arya grabbed her car keys and bid her sister goodnight, not commenting on Gendry any further.

It was 10:15 by the time she made it to Gendry’s apartment.

She fidgeted with her hair, anxiety and excitement bubbling inside of her as she rode the elevator up to his floor. He answered his door on her second knock. He smiled when he saw her, and he didn’t seem nervous at all. Suddenly she didn’t feel nervous either.

She stepped inside and noticed with amusement that his apartment was marginally cleaner.

“Do you want something to drink?” he asked.

“No,” she said, “I think we should just get right to it,” she smiled at him. He smiled back.

“You look really pretty,” he said, and there was something so sincere in his gaze that it took her aback.

“Thanks,” she said, moving closer to him.

He was chewing gum— spearmint gum— like he always did. The pleasant, fresh smell became stronger the closer she got to him, until it permeated the air around her and filled her nostrils.

She looped her arms around his waist, something she had done a countless number of times before. He placed his hands on either side of her face, then leaned down and kissed her.

It was better than she expected, and far better than any kiss she had ever got from high school boyfriends. His lips moved over hers with ease, and when his tongue pushed into her mouth she knew for certain that he knew what he was doing.

He pulled back from her to spit out his gum into a piece of paper on the kitchen counter. He moved his hands so they rested on her sides.

“I’m only going to ask you this once, so I need you to be sure,” he said, his voice low and serious.

She waited, staring up at the dilated pupils of his bright blue eyes.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

She didn’t hesitate to answer, nodding her head as she said, “yes.”

“Good,” he said, and brought his mouth down to hers again.

He kissed her with more fervor, not holding anything back. His hands tugged at the backs of her thighs, and, understanding what he wanted her to do, she jumped up and wrapped her legs around his waist. His hands gripped her ass firmly, holding her up easily. His mouth moved from her lips to her neck, and she gasped at the feeling of his mouth there— the way his tongue lapped at her skin, the way he used his teeth to bite softly and his lips to soothe. She ran her hands through his hair, gripping the dark strands as his lips caused a wave of heat to coil low in her stomach and an ache to form between her legs.

She deftly registered that he had walked her backward until her back was pressed against his bedroom door. His lips returned to hers then, kissing her languidly as his hands came up to cup her breasts. His hips, pressing against hers, kept her pinned against the door. She moaned into his mouth when she felt the hardness of his erection pressing against her in a way that made her want to buck her hips against him.

Gendry pulled his mouth away from hers to open the door and walk the inside his room. He had definitely cleaned up his bedroom; there were no dirty clothes on the floor and his bed was made. She was back on her feet again, could feel the thin carpet under her toes. She gripped the hem of his t shirt and tugged upward, revealing the hard, chiseled body that she had done more than a strictly friendly amount of ogling at.

She ran her hands over the muscles of his abdomen and chest. He smirked down at her, and she couldn’t suppress a grin. He took her shirt off then, revealing the sexiest bra she owned: nude colored with black lace covering the cups. He stared unabashedly and it sparked a flame of confidence in Arya’s chest.

With his hands on her waist he guided her backward until she was on her back on his bed.

Arya had kissed other guys; she had made out on couches; she had been felt up over and under her shirt; she had given her high school boyfriend a hand-job in his car. But this part— Gendry slipping his fingers beneath the waistband of her leggings, tugging them down her legs and then reaching for his belt buckle— was entirely new to her. She didn’t expect the sudden increase in her heartbeat as his pants dropped to the ground. She didn’t expect to feel nervous when he crawled over her, placing kisses along the tops of her breasts and her collarbones, but she did.

He gripped one of her thighs and brought her leg up around his waist.

“Oh,” she sighed when she felt the tip of his cock against her clitoris, only two layers of fabric between them.

He looked down at her then, his eyes alight with arousal and his tongue darting out to lick his lips. She pressed kisses to his neck and jaw, and then clutched at his back to pull him close. His bare skin was hot against hers. His hands went behind her back to deftly unhook her bra.

When he tossed it to the floor Arya thought about the fact that a boy had never seen her breasts before. Only it was a bit silly to call Gendry a boy; he was four years her senior, stood at 6’5”, and had a body packed with muscle.

_A man_ , she mentally corrected herself, _a man is about to fuck me_.

The thought was both nerve-wracking and exhilarating. Before she really had a chance to process it his mouth was sucking at her nipples, and the sensation was so overwhelming that she yelped in surprise.

He looked up at her and grinned.

“Yeah?” he questioned simply.

She nodded and guided his head back to her chest.

She was practically whimpering and plenty physically prepared when he pulled her panties down and off her legs. She nearly forgot to breathe when his fingers brushed against her sex.

“God, Gendry,” she breathed.

He kissed her roughly as his fingers moved in circles over her. He pulled his mouth away from her, panting.

“You’re really fucking beautiful, you know that?”

She didn’t know how to respond to that or the feelings it stirred inside her. It was like she was fourteen again, hoping to catch the attention of her much older crush. She had his attention now.

“Should you, uh— can you take off your underwear now?” she asked lamely, not exactly knowing how to say, “can we fuck now, please?” He pulled away from her, kneeling on the bed before standing up to take off his boxers.

Arya tried to keep her expression neutral, tried not to stare directly at it. _I guess that settles it_ , she thought as he got back on the bed. _Everything about him is big_.

He crawled over her, kissing his way up her torso. The heat that had been slowly building in her lower abdomen came to a roaring head, the ache between her legs throbbing steadily. When his mouth reached hers again he rolled away from her, sitting against the headboard. He leaned over to rifle through the drawer in his nightstand until he pulled out a condom. She watched him as he opened it with his teeth and slid it down the length of his erection.

“Come here,” he said softly. She climbed into his lap, straddling his waist. She put her hands on his shoulders, and his went to hold her around the waist.

“Are you ready?” he asked, looking like he wasn’t sure what he’d do if she said no.

“Yes.”

He positioned her so that the tip of him was at her entrance.

“Go as slowly as you need to,” he said, his voice strained. He bit his lip, his fingers digging into the flesh of her hips. She leaned in close to him as she sunk down, moving slowly to accommodate his size. Her forehead was nearly touching his, and she smelled the familiar scent of spearmint on his breath. The smell brought back a rush of memories, from the time he threatened to beat up the boys who were picking on her when she was eleven to the time they stayed up all night watching campy horror movies when she was sixteen.

Alongside the sweeping nostalgia and emotional flood wave was the incredibly odd sensation of him _filling_ her.

She moved up and down on him, her breaths coming out short and frustrated. No matter how she titled her hips she couldn’t find a rhythm. Realizing she would have to cede control to Gendry, she stopped moving.

“Can you be on top?” she huffed. He nodded eagerly. He lifted her off of him easily, and she was surprised to feel suddenly empty. She lay back so that her head was at the foot of his bed and her feet were near his pillows. He grabbed a pillow and told her to put it under the small of her back.

“What? Why?” she asked.

“The angle,” he explained as she positioned the pillow beneath her. “It’ll feel better for you.”

He parted her thighs with his knee and thrust into her, his arms near her head to brace his weight. He kissed her face and neck as he moved inside her, and when he reached down to wrap one of her legs around his waist she moaned loudly. The angle was creating an exquisite friction between them, and before long she found the rhythm of his thrusts, pushing her hips against his.

His hand came down to cup her breast, to move down her side and clutch at her hip. He said her name amidst the grunts that came from his mouth as he drove deeper into her. Arya felt a tightening sensation emanating from her sex outward, all of her muscles tense, like a spring coiling before being released. She bucked her hips up with abandon, letting instinct take over as she sought the crest to the wave building inside of her.

“Faster,” she panted, her voice strained. Gendry obeyed, his fingers gripping her hip as he quickened his thrusts.

“Fuck!” she swore, the word spilling from her lips of its own accord as her pleasure reached a peak, as every muscle released and the throbbing sensation of orgasm rolled over her in wave after wave of bliss.

Gendry’s thrusts slowed from quick and shallow to long and deep, and he came with a groan, his lips against her neck.

He rolled away from her as to not collapse on top of her, and her sweat-slicked skin was left exposed to the cool air of his bedroom. He stood up, heading for the bathroom to throw away the condom. Arya closed her eyes, the aftershocks of her climax still coursing through her, making her muscles ache in a way that felt sweet and wonderful. She opened her eyes when she felt him lie down next to her, one of his arms wrapping around his waist and his lips on her shoulder. She turned to the side and kissed him, trying to convey her thanks with her lips and tongue. When she finally pulled away he laughed softly.

“Remember that rule about this being a onetime thing?” he asked.

“Yeah?” she said as she tried not to sound too hopeful that he had changed his mind.

“To hell with that rule.”

They both laughed then, and Arya kissed him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, well that concludes my food prompts! I'd love to know what you think about this chapter. Be on the look out for more Gendrya coming from me in the future-- I have like a hundred story ideas currently floating around in my head.  
> Thank you for all the kudos and comments, you're all just lovely.  
> -K


End file.
